


Standing in line I ask you, baby, R U Mine?

by duesternis



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Condoms, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, I guess at least, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexy Times, Smoking, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, alcohol drinking, sweaty sex, unprotected oral sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: Charlie Best was in love anew.In love with the little moustache and scruffy beard and the fierce eyebrows and dark eyes. The grumpy set of that handsome face and the ruffle of his dark hair."Care to share a fag?"Charlie grinned and held the pack out for the handsome guy. Bryant mumbled something he couldn’t hear over the din. Not that Charlie cared, there was a handsome man to sweet-talk."I’m Best, Charles Best!"The handsome one grunted and pulled a cigarette from the carton, patting his pockets for a lighter.Charlie pulled his pink plastic lighter out again and lit it for the handsome one. He was rewarded with a flash of a grin."Bill Pilkington, ta."
Relationships: Charles Best / William Pilkington, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 9





	Standing in line I ask you, baby, R U Mine?

**Author's Note:**

> this is for ciarán and elenora. thank you for opening my eyes to this ship.
> 
> i mostly listened to the arctic monkeys while writing and editing this, so feel free to live that experience. (it's why the title is like that too)

Charles Best fell in love like some people fell down stairs: All the time.  
At the moment he was still in love with tall, handsome, supremely kind Graham Gore from university. Who was in a weird pseudo-relationship with Harry Goodsir from the local med-school.  
Which was in and of itself complicated, because Harry was also sort of seeing someone else, if Charlie was informed correctly.  
But when he’d asked Silna she’d only looked at him as if she wouldn’t be against someone skinning him. That had sort of cut that particular conversation short.  
And he didn’t really trust what Hickey had to say about anyone, honestly. The man was weird and the picture on his student-ID looked badly pasted in. Then again Charlie had only seen his ID once in bad lighting, and all the IDs looked cobbled together, in his honest opinion.  
It was also thanks to Hickey, weirdly, that he was at this party after all, so he wouldn’t go badmouth him now.  
Tomorrow would be a completely different story though.

Tommy Armitage lifted his glass towards Charlie and Charlie gave a little wave, at the moment quite drink-less.  
The living room was packed full, people everywhere, spilling into the narrow hallway and kitchen, sitting on the stairs and shouting over the loud music.  
Something weird and electronic that Des Voeux had brought and Sol Tozer hadn’t complained when his stereo had been hijacked. Just shrugged and sipped his beer, his boyfriend’s arm around his middle, plaid shirt rucked up over his belly, much to Tommy Armitage’s pining dismay.  
And now Charlie Best was on his way to the bathroom, trying to avoid John Hartnell and his drunken, excited babbling. Tom Hartnell threw him an apologetic glance and Charlie stood at the end of the queue for the bathroom.

There were nails in the wall, but no pictures hung up. It was probably a wise idea to not have pictures up when there were lots of drunk people shoving through your narrow hallway.  
He leaned one shoulder against the wall and idly people-watched the others standing in line for the loo.  
"There’s one upstairs, why can’t we use that?", complained some guy Charlie had never seen before. Tall, broad, wearing a band t-shirt, nursing a beer.  
"Don’t know, Bryant. Ask Tozer."  
Charlie pushed off the wall to catch a glimpse of the guy who’d answered. Nice voice; soft but not weak, dark and even.  
But Bryant shifted against the wall and Charlie saw nothing but the faded print on the back of the t-shirt.

The queue moved forward and two giggling girls came out of the bathroom, drunkenly clinging to each other. They carried their heels in their hands.  
Charlie fumbled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, sunglasses pushed down on his nose. It was really gloomy in the hallway.  
He kept his lighter lit longer than necessary.  
The Bryant guy turned to look at Charlie and Charlie shrank against the wall with an awkward grin.  
A lifted eyebrow and a grunt from Bryant and the guy standing in queue before Bryant looked around him and straight at Charlie.  
His mouth fell open, cigarette dangling wetly from the tip of his tongue.

Graham Gore was forgotten.  
Charlie Best was in love anew.

In love with the little moustache and scruffy beard and the fierce eyebrows and dark eyes. The grumpy set of that handsome face and the ruffle of his dark hair.  
"Care to share a fag?"  
Charlie grinned and held the pack out for the handsome guy. Bryant mumbled something he couldn’t hear over the din. Not that Charlie cared, there was a handsome man to sweet-talk.  
"I’m Best, Charles Best!"  
The handsome one grunted and pulled a cigarette from the carton, patting his pockets for a lighter. Charlie pulled his pink plastic lighter out again and lit it for the handsome one.  
He was rewarded with a flash of a grin.  
"Bill Pilkington, ta."  
They shook hands and Bryant moved past Bill Pilkington in the queue. He was shoved for his troubles and Charlie was immediately grateful to Bryant.  
Someone should buy the man a beer.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses inside, Charles Best?"  
Charlie laughed and took a drag from his cigarette.  
"Forgot to take them off when I came in and now it’s a commitment." He exhaled the smoke with an open mouth, trying for a smoke ring.  
Bill Pilkington seemed thouroughly unimpressed. It looked good on him.  
"That’s stupid."  
Charlie laughed and pushed them down his nose, looking at Bill Pilkington over the rim. His heart gave a heavy thud. Warm brown eyes, fuck.  
"It’s called fashion, baby."  
"Like your pissboy shirt?", he jabbed Charlie in the slogan with a thumb and then shook his head, "Don’t call me baby, Best, I’ll break your nose."  
Charlie laughed and tapped ash on the tiled floor. After double checking that Sol Tozer wasn’t in sight. The man would break more than Charlie’s nose if he saw him litter his house.  
"Alright. Bill, then?"  
"Yeah, that’s alright. Charles, good?"  
"Sure. You know Tozer?"  
Bill shrugged and smoked for a moment. "We used to work together, still friendly enough. You?"  
"Oh, a mutual acquaintance invited me. What do you work as?"  
Charlie had to shout that last bit, as the music changed from the vibrating electric tunes to trashy, loud pop-punk at double the volume.  
Charlie wondered if it was still Des Voeux’s playlist. Varied taste, if it was.

Bill leaned in, one hand on Charlie’s elbow to pull him down a bit.  
The guy was short. Seriously short. His hand was warm and a bit sweaty.  
"Bouncer at a club. Might know it. Erebus, by the harbour?"  
"Oh yeah! I go there all the time! It’s close to my flat, so it’s easy to stumble home from there after one too many at the bar."  
Bill looked up at him, hand still on Charlie’s elbow. It was very warm and square and Charlie wanted it all over him.  
And the second hand too, just for good measure.  
"Cool. Say hi, next time, I’ll get you in easy."  
"Discount?", Charlie asked with a wink, smoke drifting from the corner of his mouth.  
Bill laughed and gave him a little friendly shove.  
"Keep bumming me fags and I might get you in free of charge. I’m all out of smokes tonight."  
"Alright, deal."  
They shook hands again and the queue moved a single step forward.

Billy Orren passed Charlie and leaned in for a quick kiss to his cheek. "How’s it, Charles!"  
"All well, Billy-boy! With you?"  
"Puked my guts out, else I’m good. Henry’s coming to pick me up."  
Charlie laughed and waved Billy on his way. Then he turned back to Bill and dropped his finished smoke, crushing it under his heel. Sol Tozer was still nowhere to be seen.  
"Friend?"  
"Same uni-courses. He’s a mate, but he’s a real light-weight. Dead in the water after a drink or two, puking his guts out."  
He shrugged and Bill nodded, shifting the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other.  
Charlie licked his bottom lip and took his sunglasses off.  
Hooked them to one of his belt loops and Bill lifted one of his angry eyebrows.  
"Oh? No longer commited?"  
His hands looked devastatingly elegant when he tapped ash from his cigarette. Charlie swallowed excess saliva.  
"The hallway is seriously gloomy."  
"Yeah, Tozer takes out like every second lightbulb when he throws a party. Frat-house dark corners and all. Or maybe he’s just scared someone will smash them."  
"Hickey is here, so caution is advised. I saw he took the pictures down."  
Charlie pointed at a sad nail and nodded conspiratorial.  
Bill laughed and the queue moved forward again. They could see the bathroom door now.  
"Is there really a bathroom upstairs?"  
"Off-limits. Heather’s gonna go all papa bear on you, if you go upstairs. Upstairs is love-country and no party-guests are permitted."  
Charlie laughed and adjusted his t-shirt subtly. Showing a bit of skin above the waistband of his dark jeans.

"Do you study like art or something?" Bill crushed his cigarette under his heel and crossed his arms over his chest.  
His t-shirt was tight over his arms.  
"What gave it away?"  
"Do you really have to ask?" Bill pointedly looked Charlie down from his hat to his worn converse shoes.  
Charlie looked down his own legs and gave a little half-shrug. He laughed and Bill joined in for a chuckle, pulling Charlie along when the queue moved.  
"Got a side job?"  
"Record store, so if you ever need good music, come by the Rock Emporium. I’ll show you all my favourites."  
Bill looked up at Charlie again, eyes way browner than Charlie had guessed and lips way softer looking than they had any right to be.

And Charlie was tipsy and fresh in love and he really wanted to kiss Bill Pilkington.  
He leaned in, one hand on the wall, the other still in his pocket, holding on to his lighter for dear life.  
The cheap plastic creaked in his hand.  
Bill’s eyes grew wide and his face didn’t look grumpy for the first time since Charlie had laid eyes on him. And there had been laughter before.  
For a second the world held its breath and Charlie felt Bill’s breath on his lips.  
They were so close.

"Pilkington, come over here, for a moment!"  
Sol Tozer.  
God, Charlie was going to murder him.  
Bill grabbed Charlie’s elbow again and squeezed it with a soft expression on his flushed face.  
"Sorry," he said almost inaudibly over the music playing and then he was gone.  
Charlie swayed into the empty space Bill had left in his departure and felt the plastic of his lighter crack in his palm. Lighter fuel leaked on his hand.  
"Fuck."  
Bryant turned over his massive shoulder and gave Charlie a pitying look.  
"I don’t think he’s into dudes, mate. But good luck, I guess."  
Charlie laughed and pulled his hat off, running a hand through his hair. Looked at Bryant and poked the inside of his cheek in thought, mouth probably open again.  
He always forgot to close it.  
"Do you have his number?"  
"Sure do." Bryant turned back to the bathroom and took a step forward.  
They were only a few more people away from it.  
"Care to share?"  
"Not gonna happen, boy. Go find him and ask him yourself, I’m not handing out a friend’s number."  
Charlie fidgeted with his hat and then pulled it back on. Nothing tried, nothing gained.  
"Alright, ta."  
Then he broke out of the queue and rushed to find Bill Pilkington and get his number, his full bladder momentarily forgotten.

And painfully remembered when a girl stumbled against him, her sharp elbow stabbing him straight in the belly.  
"Ah, fuck."  
"Sorry," she laughed and patted his arm before righting herself.  
Charlie eyed the queue and found it even longer than before. So upstairs it was.  
Or outside, pissing into a flowerpot.  
And he’d rather face Heather than the police.  
He climbed past the people sitting on the stairs.  
Most memorable among them were Hickey and his boyfriend. Hickey sat in his boyfriend’s lap in an oversized t-shirt and with thigh high boots. Probably fake Chanel or something, they looked that expensive kind of cheap.  
Hickey had his tongue down his boyfriend’s throat and his hands under the weird ruffled shirt the guy was wearing.  
They looked like they had thought it was a costume party and then had fought over a couple-costume and then had angry sex and no time left to get dressed properly again.  
Charlie pulled a face, the guy sitting next to them on the stairs pulled a face too and they had a bit of a laugh about it.  
He stepped over someone’s leg up on the next step.  
When Charlie looked back Hickey was looking at him, still violently kissing his boyfriend.  
Creepy was too tame a word for the poignant stare.

He took the last few steps up in long strides and then looked around the quiet, dark hallway. It was carpeted up here, some soft colour.  
Only four doors and there was a little sign of a bear in a foamy bathtub on one.  
Good guess that was the second bathroom. And probably Heather’s little bear in a tub.  
Because Charlie felt like he was having an aneurysm when he thought about Tozer buying a little bathroom sign of a bear in a tub.  
Charlie tiptoed towards it and carefully opened it.  
Blessedly empty, light from the streetlamps outside spilling over the tiles and fluffy towels everywhere. He locked the door behind himself and took a long overdue piss in the dark.  
Washed his hands and unlocked the door, creeping back into the hallway.

Only to come face to face with Hickey and his boyfriend, hand in hand, Hickey grinning like a mad man. Like always then.  
"Hello, Charles."  
"Sod off, Cornelius, we all know upstairs is off limits."  
"And we’re still all upstairs."  
Hickey’s oversized t-shirt read Baby Slut on the chest in glittery letters that reminded Charlie vaguely of the Barbie franchise. It was impossible to tell if he wore shorts under it or not.  
Charlie had no urge to check.  
"And we’re all gonna go downstairs now."  
Hickey’s grin widened comically and his boyfriend shifted where he stood. At least he was wearing shorts. Dark and somehow ridiculously short on his long legs. Fucking long socks too.  
He looked a bit like the ghost of a victorian orphan, only with a full beard and a long-suffering expression.  
"Cornelius, come on, we can go home."  
"Billy, darling. I want to make out in Solomon’s bed."  
Charlie stepped around them and lifted his hands. "Leave me out of your sick power plays and have fun."

He slipped down the stairs and sat down on the first one that was already in use as a seat. A couple, snogging the hell out of each other, sat next to him.  
The girl had her bra in her hand and the guy was breathing very heavily.  
The music had changed again to something screachy and very loud.   
Charlie lit a cigarette and looked through the banister out at the hallway and into the living room, looking for a dent in the mass of moving bodies.  
Looking for Bill Pilkington via his shortness.  
He saw Tozer, sitting on the back of a couch, telling some story or other, hands moving animatedly. Graham Gore was there too.  
There was a little lurch his heart gave, a sad fondness of a love lost.  
Charlie fought his way down the stairs and then through the hallway and over to the couch.  
His hat was crooked on his head and he put his sunglasses on again, cigarette hanging from his lip.  
Graham Gore was still terribly attractive, Bill Pilkington was just even more handsome.  
"Oi, Best! Haven’t seen you around all night."  
"Yeah, hi," Charlie grinned, giving Graham Gore’s arm a squeeze, earning a pat on the back for his troubles.  
Tozer took a sip from his beer and nodded at Charlie as if they knew each other more than in passing.  
Charlie took that opening.

"Hey, sorry, to bother you. I’m looking for Bill Pilkington, have you seen him?"  
Tozer stretched his neck and looked around the living room. Shrugged. It was the sexiest shrug Charlie had ever seen.  
"Try the kitchen, maybe, or out back."  
"You called him away earlier."  
"Yeah. Check the kitchen."  
Charlie took a drag from his cigarette and grinned nervously. Nodded and darted in the vague direction of the kitchen.  
He had the distinct impression that Sol Tozer didn’t like him.   
Well, no helping that and he didn’t want Tozer’s number, so really, it couldn’t be less important.  
On the way to the kitchen he passed Des Voeux who had gotten control over the music back. Explained the awfulness of it.  
He was dancing, or something that passed as dancing in a techno club at four in the morning when everyone was coming down from their ecstasy-high.  
Charlie dodged a flailing limb.  
He barged into the kitchen, ears ringing from the speakers and promptly ran into Golding.

"Woah, sorry!"  
Golding laughed, drunk, and patted Charlie’s chest, slurring something incomprehensible.  
Magnus Manson pulled Golding off of Charlie’s chest with a soft grimace and then Tom Hartnell was there too and they somehow ushered Golding away.  
Charlie watched them for a moment, eyebrows lifted over the rim of his sunglasses.  
Funny group, the three of them. Not people he would have thrown in the same pot, but they seemed close since earlier this year.  
He crushed his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray on the messy kitchen island and looked around.  
The glasses in the cupboard vibrated with the bassline.  
Bill Pilkington was standing by the sink, water running.  
There were suds on his hands.

"Did Tozer really call you away from the loo to wash his dishes?"  
Charlie laughed a bit and leaned against the counter next to Bill.  
Bill looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a stormy face. His hair was even more dishevelled now.  
Charlie wanted to run his hands through it. Mess it up like he was getting payed for it.  
"Wanna help or stand around like a real arse?"  
Charlie grinned and hunted down a dish towel, hooking his sunglasses to his beltloop again.  
"Ready to dry, Mr Pilkington."  
"Light me a fag, first."  
"Alright."  
He put a cigarette between his own lips and lit it, taking the first drag. Then he held the fag out for Bill and Bill looked at him.  
There was a little, wry smile perched on his lips and a little flush on his cheekbones. Then he opened his mouth and Charlie knew he was mirroring him. That he stood there with an open mouth like an idiot.  
He put the cigarette against Bill’s lip and Bill closed his mouth around the filter. His warm, soft, dry lips touched Charlie’s finger for less than a breath.  
He’d rerun that moment mentally for the rest of his life whenever he jerked off.  
"Close your mouth, Charlie," Bill mumbled around the cigarette, eyes warm. 

Then he turned back to the dishes – mostly glasses – and aggressively scrubbed a lipstick-stain from the rim of a wine glass.  
"Did you get to take a piss?" Charlie started drying the glasses, bumping elbows with Bill.  
Bill chuckled, leaned his head back and sucked at his cigarette. Charlie tapped the ash for him and replaced it.  
"Yeah I did. Straight in the neighbour’s garden. He threatened to call the police, because of the noise."  
Charlie grinned and cleared half the kitchen island with some creative shoving of mostly empty crisp-bags and beer bottles. Started piling the clean glasses.  
For a long while there was only the splashing in the sink, the awful music from the living room and people passing through for food and drinks and a moment of fresh air on the back steps.  
Then, after his second cigarette, Bill declared his deed done and dried his hands on Charlie’s soggy dish towel.  
"Let’s get out of here, or I’m gonna strangle Des Voeux."  
"Oh, yeah. I’ll give you an alibi, he really has it coming with that music selection."  
They grinned at each other, Bill’s hands still in Charlie’s towel.  
Sol Tozer cleared his throat in the doorway.

"Hey, thanks, Pilkington. I owe you one."  
"Yeah, you do. I’m outta here, see you around." Bill passed Tozer in the doorway, patting his belly with a little grin. "And next time, don’t let Des Voeux pick the music, mate."  
Tozer laughed and pulled Pilkington into a manly, one-armed hug.  
Charlie had never been the recipient of one, and honestly: they looked uncomfortable. He’d much rather have a real cuddle.  
He tossed the dish towel on the kitchen counter, pulled his sunglasses on and winked at Tozer on his way out, following Bill through the fray.  
The little guy had an uncanny talent of making people step aside for him.  
"Oh, I see the bouncer now,"Charlie quipped and Bill shook his head.

Charlie caught up in the doorway and fished his jacket from the pile of outerwear.  
Bill looked at him with a raised eyebrow and stuffed his arms into a puffy bomber jacket.  
"You should see me at work, Charlie."  
Charlie laughed, cheeks flushed and pulled the door open.  
He fell in love often, but it had never been like this before. So unbearable and awesome.  
So fucking butterfly-sy. As if someone was pulling the rug out from under Charlie with every breath he took and he couldn’t wait for it to happen again.  
"Can I get your number?" Charlie looked at Bill who was pulling the door closed after them, shutting Des Voeux’s music out and leaving them in relative silence. "Just so I can check with you, if you’re working or not when I come to Erebus."  
Bill jumped down the front stairs and jostled Charlie.  
Grinned at him and pulled his phone from his pocket. The case was Mountain Dew green.  
"Sure, Pissboy."

Charlie had learned that Bill Pilkington was the world’s most abysmal texter, but fluid in meme.  
Some mild research later Charlie had also found Bill’s gaming streams on youtube and twitch and fallen asleep to Bill rage-quitting more than one game.  
Maybe he’d lifted a screenshot of Bill laughing to put as the caller-ID, too shy to make it his background or lock screen.

It made his heart race whenever he saw Bill’s face pop up on his screen.

Charlie was very much in love with Bill.

\-- _Workin tonight?_  
\-- Yeah, come round, I’ll wave u through

Bill tossed his phone back at his bed and ran his towel through his hair a final time.  
Pulled a pair of boxers from his pile of laundry and sniffed it. Washed, just unfolded.  
Yesterday’s jeans were good enough and then one of the work shirts.  
His phone pinged in the messy duvet and Bill rummaged for it, until it pinged again, right under his knee.  
Two new messages from Pissboy. The little image of Charlie wearing a ridiculous hat and having his mouth open next to the message made Bill grin helplessly.  
It stretched his bruised cheek uncomfortably.  
Courtesy of some asshole earlier this week and two shots too many. And Bill on the wrong side of the fight again.  
"At least you can take a punch," Bryant had said, pulling the guy off of Bill.  
Bill wasn’t sure if he’d rather bit Bryant’s ankle in that moment or the drunk asshole’s ankle.  
Hopcraft, the fucking tool, had laughed and cleared the area with two sweeps of his long arms.  
Bill shook his head in his room and put his shoes on, lacing the heavy boots up to the top. Good for stomping assholes.  
Then he grabbed his jacket and opened Charlie’s messages.

\-- _Nice!!_  
\-- _You’ll see me around definitely! Free first drink?_

Bill laughed and pocketed his phone.  
"Can’t get you free drinks, Charlie, you’re not my boyfriend."  
Yet, he added in the privacy of his mind.  
Not that he’d ever tell anyone that Charles Best was basically sex on legs. Very long, very shapely legs.  
With his long eyelashes and his soft lips and the perpetually open mouth and the gesturing hands and the fucking laugh and the damn voice that made Bill’s toes curl in his shoes and the narrow hips, always in those appaling tight jeans.  
Fucking art students.

Bill was this close to betting with someone that Charles Best had a weird, artsy tattoo somewhere on his lanky body.  
And he was hell-bent on finding out where and what.  
He sniffed and locked his flat behind himself, hurried down the stairs and got on his bike. Cycled the quick ride over to Erebus, wondering – not for the first time – where exactly Charlie lived.  
He had said close by to Erebus. Close enough to walk, even when he was drunk.  
There were quite a few cheap rentals around that would be right up the budget of an art student, probably.  
Bill grinned and turned a tight corner, ending up in the alley behind the club. He locked his bike to the banister of the cellar stairs and entered through the back.  
Mind full of Charlie.

Then it was a busy two or three hours, everybody rushing to get ready to open the doors for hundreds of people desperate for booze and a quick shag.  
Fuck, Bill himself wouldn’t be against getting laid. It had been some time.  
Maybe he'd get lucky tonight. Which reminded him.  
"Hey, Le Vesconte! Can I take one of the complimentary drink buttons?"  
"Got a friend coming over?"  
"Yeah."  
Le Vesconte grinned, vaguely lecherous, and Bill fought the urge to punch him. It was his usual reaction to any interaction with the man.  
Shame that he was also his boss.  
"Sure, take one. Good luck."  
"Thanks," Bill said as politely as he could manage. Which probably wasn’t very, judging from Le Vesconte’s little pout.

A bellowed "Dundy!" thankfully made him seek out Fitzjames and leave Bill in peace to pilfer the button stash.  
He was pretty sure they still had some of those "Free drinks all night" buttons somewhere. Usually for pre-booked birthdays or shit like that.  
Well, maybe it was Charlie’s birthday. How would Bill know. He hadn’t asked yet.  
Didn’t want to seem too forward or desperate or something.  
He squinted into the button-box.  
There.  
At the very back. Obnoxious green with pink lettering. Easy to make out, even in the dim lighting of the club.  
Bill grinned and pocketed it.  
Then he fit his ear piece in and took his post by the doors.  
There was already a small crowd gathered behind the frosted glass.  
He checked his phone a last time, but Charlie hadn’t said anything else. Bill ignored the sad little flop his heart made and popped his knuckles.  
Work time, then.

After two already drunk dudes trying to get past Bill in the first hour alone and neither succeeding, he was ready to punch the next asshole that tried anything square in the face.  
Sadly, the next asshole that tried something was Le Vesconte and Bill could hardly punch his boss in the face.  
"Your boyfriend here yet, Pilk?", Le Vesconte drawled suddenly from Bill’s left. Fucking ass.  
He didn’t turn to look at him, instead balled his fists a bit tighter and stared at the giggling girls waiting for their turn at the entrance desk.  
"Not my boyfriend."  
"Alright," Le Vesconte purred and pulled a fucking chair up. Sat down, his long legs stretched out behind Bill.  
He was wearing a fucking leopard print shirt, half open over his be-glittered chest.  
How in the world was that idiot married? Who in the world had married that idiot?  
Either another idiot, or the greatest morosexual of the universe.

Bill’s phone vibrated in his pocket.  
Damn.  
Probably Charlie.  
A moment later he saw Charlie’s stupid beret weave through the crowd.  
Damn.  
Definitely Charlie.  
No sunglasses tonight, but his Pissboy-shirt and tight jeans again. Probably the ratty converse shoes too.  
"Fuck."

"Oh, that’s him?" Le Vesconte sounded judgemental and Bill really, really wanted to punch him.  
"Bill!"  
Charlie laughed and pushed through the last stretch of the crowd, people complaining and Bill stepped forward.  
The crowd quieted down and Charlie licked his lips, mouth staying open as his tongue rested in the corner of his mouth for a moment.  
"Oh, you look fierce in your work-things! Nice!"  
Bill allowed himself a little grin and Charlie stepped closer. He smelled good. Like perfume and a bit of booze. His cigarettes.  
"Hey there. Glad you made it."  
Le Vesconte made a sound from his chair and Bill kicked at his ankle. Pulled the button from his pocket in the same movement and carefully pinned it to the top of Charlie’s shirt.  
Just above the Y of Pissboy.  
"Come through," he mumbled and stepped aside.  
Charlie beamed at him and slipped through the narrow opening in the rope, brushing past Bill.  
Fuck, he really smelled amazing.  
"So, what powers does this magic button grant me?"  
"Free admission, free drinks. Enjoy your stay." Bill grinned and gave the small of Charlie’s back a little slap.  
He didn’t dare slap his arse. Yet.  
Charlie stood there, mouth open and blinked at Bill a few times. His cheeks were red and redder by the second.  
"Thanks," he mumbled hoarsely and smiled at Bill.  
Leaned in and pressed a little kiss to the corner of Bill’s eye. "Will I see you inside?"

Bill licked his lips and swallowed, nodded. His brain had short-circuited a bit when he had gotten a full frontal of the little dip between Charlie’s collarbones.  
He pulls himself together to croak out a "Yeah, later on."  
Le Vesconte was blessedly quiet for once in his life. Else he would have gotten to be intimate with Bill’s fist.  
And not in a fun way.  
Charlie grinned again and squeezed Bill’s shoulder, then his long legs carried him away swiftly. Through the frosted glass doors and into the depth of Erebus.  
Le Vesconte stood from his chair and cleared his throat.  
He managed to make even that sound sleazy somehow.  
"Alright. That’s your man?"  
"Fuck off, Le Vesconte."  
"Chillax. How old is he? Hope you didn’t just let an underage boy into the club, they’ll shut us down."  
"He’s over eighteen, unclench yourself. Twenty-something. He’s an art student."  
Fuck, why was he telling Le Vesconte this?  
"An art student! Alas! Good luck, Pilky, I’ll be back inside, keeping an eye on your art student!"  
Bill bit back a groan and stopped a bunch of pimply kids to check their IDs.

The rest of his time outside passed about as quickly as the time spent waiting in an ER.  
Which was to say not at all.  
He was glad when Hopcraft changed spots with him.  
Patrolling the club gave him at least a chance to catch a word or two with Charlie.  
Or maybe watch him dance. That must be a sight to see.  
Pilk dropped his jacket off in the staff-room and then started his round on the balcony. It was comparably quiet still, but it was also just a Friday. Thursdays and Saturdays were always busier.  
With a practised eye he found Charlie by the bar, sitting on one of the stools and talking to one of the barkeepers.  
His hands were slicing the air animatedly and Bill took the stairs down to the main floor.  
Crossed over the dance floor and slowed down, just enjoying the play of the changing light over the curve of Charlie’s back.  
Then he saw who Charlie was talking to.  
Fucking Hedges. Weirdest guy to ever work the bar.  
"Shit," Bill muttered with feeling and hastened his steps again.  
Hoped the guy hadn’t yet asked Charlie for foot-pics or something equally creepy.  
He put a hand on Charlie’s back when he stepped up next to him and glared at Hedges. Who suddenly had glasses to fill and other orders to take.  
"You alright?"  
"Bill!"  
Charlie was obviously drunk. There was a high flush on his cheekbones, showing off the long lashes. His mouth was red and open and Bill wanted to kiss him.  
More than anything.  
"Hey! How long do you still have to work?" Charlie leaned in close, positively towering over Bill from his perch on the stool.  
For once he didn’t mind. Not with Charlie.

Bill grinned and checked his watch. "Another hour and a half. I can hang around, though. Keep my eyes on the main floor and all that."  
Charlie grabbed his arm and squeezed it. Knocked back his drink and motioned Hedges for another. Who complied with a little half-grin tossed at Bill.  
"Making good use of the button, I see."  
Bill leaned his back against the bar and surveyed the moving bodies on the dance floor.  
"I’m not gonna waste a perfectly good free booze button," Charlie grinned and swivelled his bar stool, so they were looking in the same direction.  
Their arms were pressed together and Bill smiled to himself.  
This was nice.  
Would be nicer if he were off work, so they could get smashed together. But this was a nice start.  
And a hour and a half passed fairly quickly with Charles Best commenting on the truly weird outfits of some of the regulars.  
(Hodgson and his fishnet-shirt and his hawaii-shirt on top. His fucking bucket hat.  
Ned Little and his suit. Who wears a suit to a club? Fucking Ned Little checking his emails by the bar apparently.  
Fairholme’s 70’s porn-star vibe, complete with wifebeater and gold chain.)  
Bill hadn’t laughed that hard in quite some time.  
Some of the bar-staff eyed him as if they’d never seen him laugh before. Well, maybe they hadn’t.

After Bill’s shift was over he joined Charlie with the drinking. Which just meant that Charlie ordered two and gave one to Bill.  
"Buying me drinks at work, you’re a real sleazebag, Pissboy. Fucking predator."  
Charlie grinned and sipped his drink through a glittering straw. His mouth was stained red from some cocktail or other.  
"Well, can’t help wanting to buy a drink for such a handsome man, and I’m not gonna be ashamed about it."  
Bill laughed and pulled his ear piece out, tired of the voices in his ear. Bryant was singing along to the music again, mic on and messing up every line.  
Charlie leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of Bill’s eye. To his temple and then to the shell of his ear. His breath was hot and wet and he smelled like sweat and fruit.  
"I’m drunk," he whispered into Bill’s ear. "I need a smoke."  
"Let’s go out back," Bill said and helped Charlie down from his stool.  
He kept his hand on the small of Charlie’s back, where his t-shirt was wet with sweat and clung to his skin.  
Together they slipped through the staff door and through the well-lit hallway out to the back of the club.  
Bill got his work jacket from the staff room before they propped the back door open with the conveniently placed brick.  
There they sat down on the damp stairs and smoked a cigarette or two.  
Charlie started shivering on his second one and Bill draped his jacket over his slender shoulders.  
It earned him a bright grin and a hand squeezing his thigh.  
And that made Bill’s heart hammer in his ears, stomach trying to twist itself into knots.  
Charlie’s hand stayed on his thigh, right where his jeans had a rip, so that he felt the heat of Charlie’s skin on his.  
Fuck, he had it bad for the Pissboy.

Bill swallowed heavily and let his cigarette burn down to the filter.  
Charlie put his head on Bill’s shoulder and finished his cigarette.  
Then he just sat there, hand on Bill’s thigh, head on his shoulder. His stupid beret pressed against Bill’s ear, his breath ghosting over Bill’s cheek.  
Fitzjames shooed them back in after half an hour, talking on the phone with his boyfriend. Or Sugardaddy, or whatever.  
Bill didn’t really want to know, honestly.  
"Wanna go somewhere else?", Charlie asked as they walked through the staff-hallway, their hands brushing.  
Bill’s ears burned, his heart still hammering in his chest. And fucking Charlie looked so composed, it was unfair.  
Fuck, he could do composed.  
"Sure. Got anything in mind?" He diverted them to the staff room, getting his keys and parka. Charlie reluctantly handed the work jacket back to Bill.  
"Oh, there’s a nice pub not far from here. Good music, too. Not like Des Voeux’s music. Remember?"  
Bill laughed, fumbling with his locker. "Oh yeah. Can’t forget that shit-show."  
Only good part about that last house party had been meeting Pissboy here and getting his number.  
"There we go," Bill muttered and pulled a hoodie out of his locker, thrusting it into Charlie’s lean chest. "Put that on, before you freeze to death on my bike in a bit."  
"A real knight in shining armour, Bill! Thanks."  
Charlie took his hat off to pull the sweater on. His hair was tousled and Bill grinned into the upturned collar of his jacket.  
The blue Fallout sweater looked good on Charlie, even though the sleeves were a bit short on him.  
"Come on, bike’s out back. We best take the long way around, though, I don’t really want to disturb Fitzjames when he talks to his boyfriend."  
"I thought that was his sugardaddy."  
Bill laughed and elbowed Charlie, shoving him out of the staff room again.

A few minutes later Bill unlocked his bike from the banister and then they both took a moment to contemplate the situation.  
Fitzjames was shivering in the open back door, still on the phone. Someone had brought him his coat, the fur collar brushing against his cheeks. The light from the hallway reflected off the sequins of his silver dress.  
They couldn't hear what he said.  
Charlie sniffed and Bill cleared his throat.  
"It’s a mountain bike."  
"Yeah."  
"No pannier rack, Bill."  
"Yup. You can sit on the handlebar."  
Charlie sucked on his cigarette and lifted an eyebrow. Smoke rolled from his tongue as he spoke.  
"The handlebar?"  
Bill nodded and mounted the bike, keeping both feet on the tarmac still.  
"Yeah. Just hop on and lean back against me. Easy as smoking."  
Charlie snorted and tapped the ash off the glowing end. Stepped infront of the bike and pursed his lips for a breath.  
"Hold her steady. And please don’t let me fall, I broke my arm last year and that was really unpleasant. Don’t wanna break anything again."  
"Yeah, yeah, Pissboy. Hop on."  
Charlie put the wet filter of his cigarette against Bill’s lips and he took it off Charlie’s hands, palms sweaty on the rubber grips of his bike.  
His heart thudded in his chest like some industrial machine.  
Then Charlie went up on his toes and gingerly deposited his shapely backside on the handlebar.  
"Alright, now lean back," mumbled Bill around the cigarette on his tongue. His throat was dry.  
"Just...back?"  
"Yeah, just back. Back against my shoulder. Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before?" Bill blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth and squinted at the cigarette.  
If Charlie took much longer he’d burn his lip.  
"Normal people have a pannier rack, you know. Makes it easy to share a ride."  
"Sod off and lean back, Pissboy."  
"Sod off yourself," Charlie mumbled and slowly leaned back. His hands were close to Bill’s, only the raised edge of the rubber grips between their fingers.  
His arms were steady, only a slight shake in his left shoulder.  
"Hey, good core muscles."  
"Thanks."  
Charlie’s voice came out a bit pressed and Bill grinned, ember at the end of the cigarette flaring.  
Finally Charlie’s stupid beret brushed against Bill’s ear and then his shoulder nestled against Bill’s neck.  
"There we go. Feet off the ground?"  
"I’m not that tall, Bill, can’t lean on you like this and not have my legs in the air."  
"Nice. You can put them on the mud guard, but not too much pressure, otherwise that’ll drag against the wheel."  
"Yes sir."  
Bill laughed and carefully put one foot on the pedals, taking his opposite hand off the handlebar and tapping the ash from the cigarette.  
The bike gave a minute wobble and Charlie tensed against his shoulder.  
"Ready to go?"  
"No, but go ahead."  
He tossed the cig and turned his head to look at Charlie. Weird angle, very close, but nice.  
Nice to have him so close.

Charlie smelled nice. Like his fancy smokes and sweat. Hint of his cologne or aftershave or whatever. Fruity.  
Bill licked his lips and kicked off.  
The first few metres were admittedly wobbly and Charlie squawked.   
Bill laughed again and they took up speed.  
Which made for much smoother sailing and a much more relaxed Charlie against Bill’s shoulder.  
Which meant he had to keep adjusting for the weight on the right.  
"Oi, can you keep your core a bit tighter, Charlie? You’re pulling us to the right."  
"Whelp, sorry."  
Charlie adjusted his weight and stretched his legs out front, making a nice streamlined figurehead for them.  
His head was warm and heavy against Bill’s cheek and he grinned.  
"That’s better."  
Charlie laughed and turned his head a bit, open mouth brushing over Bill’s chin.  
He kept a death-grip on the handlebars and it was only that that kept them from toppling in the harbour.  
His poor heart was beating so fast it felt like bird’s wings battering his ribcage.  
"Where’s the pub?"  
"Oh, we don’t have to go, I really like this! We can just ride around until you get tired."  
Bill grinned wide.  
It was a private sort of elation. Like a door opening in his chest and airing out the dusty curtains or some such poetic bullshit like that.  
To have someone who would rather ride around aimlessly with him than sit down and drink a pint.  
To have that someone be gorgeous Charles Pissboy Best. Incomprehensible.  
"Yeah, that’s alright with me."  
Bit of an understatement, really.

Stayed a bit of an understatement for the next hour and a half.

"So."  
"Yeah."  
Charlie kicked a pebble down the street and looked at Bill from under his eyelashes. He hoped it made him look sexy, and not like he had something in his eye.  
"That was fun."  
Bill nodded and sniffed, fingers tapping against the rubber of his bike’s handlebars.  
He was staring intently at the lettering on Charlie’s borrowed sweater, as if he was trying to find fault with it.   
Charlie gathered his courage and vaguely pointed at the door, before dropping his hands again.  
Bill made a noise that Charlie interpreted as inquisitive.  
Well.  
"Do you want to come up? I’ve beer in the fridge?" His voice came out squeaky and at least an octave higher than normally.  
His hands were twitching against his thighs and he craved a smoke.  
Or the fucking ground to open underneath his shoes and swallow him whole.  
There was an unbearably long moment of silence and then Bill locked his bike to the closest street light.  
"Alright. Lead the way up."  
Charlie’s knees nearly gave in, heart stopping its frantic marathon with a measly jump.  
"Fuck, thank God, I thought you were gonna leave me hanging."

Bill grinned and Charlie lead the way up to his little shit-hole of a flat. Half hoping that Bill was checking his butt out on the stairs.  
It looked good in the jeans, he’d checked that out before leaving for Erebus.  
The light in the hallway flickered, sputtered and died when they stepped on the landing and Charlie unlocked his flat in the ensuing grey.  
"You can leave your shoes by the door, let me get the light. Some genius put the lightswitch on the other end of the hall."  
"Oh, love me some good interior design like that."  
Charlie laughed and flicked the switch. Bill looked up from pulling at his shoe laces and Charlie was glad for the support of the wall behind him.  
Dangerously good-looking, that Bill fellow over there.  
"Wow, that’s what I call a light fixture," Bill drawled and squinted at the naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling.  
"Yeah, real Avantgarde. Beer on the couch?"  
"I’d rather have it in a bottle, but sure."  
Charlie kicked off his shoes and put his beret on the sideboard, before stalking into his tiny kitchen, chuckling.  
He turned the faucet on and let this afternoon's cereal bowl get a good soak.  
"You’re a real jokster, Bill."  
"Thanks, I had this joke book in third grade, and honestly all my best jokes are from that."  
"Nice. Love nothing more than a good joke book." Charlie pulled two beers from the fridge and opened them on the chipped edge of the counter.  
Bill took one off his hands with a little "Cheers" and Charlie pointed him towards the living room.

"Want me to put on some music?"  
"Go ahead.2 Bill stood by the shelf, sipping from his bottle, eyeing Charlie’s movie collection.  
"Anything you hate with a passion? Wouldn’t want to chase you out before you had your beer."  
"No anime shit and no techno and we’re good, Pissboy."  
"Ah shame, was about to put my Hatsune Miku Techno-remix tape on."  
"I’m gonna murder you."  
"Please do it in the bathroom, tiles are way easier to clean up than the flooring here."  
They both looked at the dusty, brownish floor and Bill scuffed his socked foot over it, checking the underside for dirt.   
"What’s that? Cork?"  
"God yeah, bane of my existence. Some of the cork-tiles crumble, you know. Makes for a sexy barefoot experience let me tell you."  
Bill laughed and dropped on the couch.  
"You know, I know a man who would have left the flat the second he he learned that."  
"That sounds not weird at all, great."  
Charlie grinned at Bill and watched him lift his feet on the corner of the couch.  
"Music?"  
"Oh, yeah, sorry", he picked one of his Queen albums and the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury filled the living room a moment later.  
"Nice."  
"A Queen man?"  
"Hell yeah. Fuck the Beatles."  
"All my homies hate the Beatles."  
Bill snorted and Charlie flung himself at the free space on the couch, getting beer all over his fingers.

"So, Charles."  
"Ugh, yeah, William?" He wiped his sticky fingers on his jeans.  
"Shut up, not even my ma calls me William."  
"What does she call you? Son?"  
"Freddie."  
"That makes no sense whatsoever."  
"Does. Middle name."  
"Condolences."  
"Sod off, Pissboy."  
"No, go on, you wanted to ask me something?"  
"Yeah. Art student? Do you like draw?"  
"Yeah, drawing, painting, mostly. But last year I had a clay-course. Damn, am I bad with clay. Loved my textile class last semester, though."  
"Sewing?"  
"Textile art. Can be sewing, doesn’t have to be."  
Bill took a sip from his beer and made a vague noise of assent.  
"You just toss out people all day for money."  
"And good money too. Not all I do, though."  
"Oh, yeah, you go to abysmal house parties. How could I have forgotten that important fact."  
"Sod off. I’ve a twitch."  
"Ah, Onlyfans for gamers, I get it. You stream and people pay you for that? Like donations and shit?", Charlie asked, as if he hadn’t watched Bill’s streams before. Religiously.  
"Yeah," Bill said with a shrug and put his feet on the couchtable. "They really like it when I get angry, for some reason."  
"Rage-quits and all that?"  
"I’m no quitter."  
Charlie grinned and put his feet up next to Bill’s. "Drop me a link when you stream next time and I might hang out for a bit."  
Time to abandon the throw-away account and add Bill to his watched streams on his main account.  
"Sure."  
Charlie looked at Bill from the corner of his eye and caught the tail end of a pleased little smile, tucked into the corner of Bill’s mouth.  
It suited him. Smiling.  
Made Charlie feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"You look good when you smile. Real nice."  
"Fuck, Pissboy, you’re completely wasted."  
"Not completely!"  
"Yeah, alright. Let me finish that beer for you."  
Bill plucked the bottle from Charlie’s hand and left the room to many complaints.  
After whining through half a song, to no avail, Charlie peeled himself from the couch with a groan and a heave and followed Bill into the kitchen.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Trying to find you something to eat. Also drink some water."  
"Ugh, okay, Mum."  
"Fuck off. You got anything that’s not cereal?"  
"Erm. Instant ramen?"  
"Fucking students, honestly."  
"Alright, Mr Bill Gates, tone it down some. I’ve toast and peanut butter. The crunchy kind." Charlie poured himself a glass of water and got up on the counter, sipping slowly.  
Bill rummaged through all the cupboards and drawers, coming up with a can of beans, half a pack of rice, two cans of peas and instant ramen.  
"Peanut butter and soy sauce are with the pots, if you need either of those."  
"Why on earth?"  
Charlie shrugged and grinned, kicking his legs against the dishwasher (out of order since the day he moved in).  
"What do you eat, dude? Seriously?"  
"What do you eat? Doritos and mountain dew? Gamer fuel?"  
Bill scoffed and pulled a pot on the stove, filling it with water. "I try to eat healthy, you know. I do sports and all that."  
"Alright, no gamer fuel then. Favourite food?"  
"Chips and steak."  
"Oh, my mum makes a nice steak."  
"It’s the easiest thing you can do. Get it fresh and just toss it in the pan for a few minutes and you got a meal that will make everyone swoon."  
"Not the vegeterians, Freddie."  
"Smashed to the wall and still coherent enough to remember vegetarians. How often do you get shit-faced, Best?"  
Charlie shrugged and watched Bill toss the instant ramen into the pot. Two whole packs.

Well, they were two whole people and now that they were talking about food Charlie was getting hungry.  
"I’m an art student. I’m trying to get the whole artist perception of the world."  
"Drugs and alcohol and depression?"  
He laughed and Bill grinned, stirring the pot. "Come here and open the peas for me, Pissboy."  
"Yes sir."  
Charlie hopped down from the counter and peeled the lids of the pea tins off. Strained the pea water and tossed the peas into the pot on Bill’s command.  
He peered over Bill’s shoulder into the steaming pot. It smelled really good.  
"Looks almost like a real meal."  
"Crazy, huh? Get me two eggs from the fridge and the peanut butter."  
"What are you gonna do with that?"  
"Toss it in, Charlie. Feed you."  
"Kinky, but alright."  
Bill laughed and kicked Charlie in the shin, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw.  
Charlie’s heart nearly stopped and he had to hold on to the fridge to not keel over and get hot soup over both of them.  
Bill was completely oblivious to his failing heart.  
"You can eat yourself, you’re a big boy."  
Charlie chuckled weakly and put the ingredients out on the counter.  
A heaping spoon of peanut butter was added to the simmering soup and then Bill cracked the eggs into it, stirring them in like crazy.  
"Get two bowls, please."  
"Chopsticks?"  
"Alright by me."  
Bill ladled soup into the two bowls and Charlie leaned in, kissing the corner of Bill’s eye. Bill shouldn’t be the only one to dole out kisses.  
"Thank you."  
Bill flushed red to his ears and Charlie kissed the shell of one.  
"Sod off and eat your soup, Pissboy, you’re drunk as fuck."  
"Alright, alright, don’t delete my number, please."  
"Hah, you wish."  
They clacked their chopsticks together in lieu of something to really toast with and started eating standing up, the pot still bubbling at Bill’s right elbow.  
Bill slurped his soup and Charlie shoveled noodles into his face.  
It was easily the best instant ramen he had ever eaten.  
Easily the best time ever had in his kitchen.  
And there had been a few memorable good times.  
None with Bill Pilkington, though.  
Not yet.

Bill was really glad that the university had a functioning homepage that made looking up Charlie Best’s artwork really easy.  
And there were some nice pictures of the man too. Looking fucking divine in a sleek black suit and with a sparkling smile.  
Definitely a picture that had seen some use at Bill’s hand.  
Better was only the elation of getting a notif on Twitch when Charlie joined the stream, or a call, or a text or anything really.  
Anything that made him honestly believe that Charlie liked him at least a little bit.

Fuck, Bill Pilkington was miserably in love.

"You need anything from the store?"  
"Some bread and milk. Eggs."  
"Alright. You coming over for dinner tonight?"  
"Might be late, Bill, I’ve got this presentation thingie I talked about."  
"Shit that’s today? I thought that was next week."  
"Nope. Today. You needn’t come, though. It’s bound to be super boring and all that, wouldn’t want you to bore yourself to death."  
"I’ll make stew then, that can stay on the stove until you drop by."  
"Aww, you’re so sweet. Gotta go, see you later!"  
"Yeah, later."  
Bill shoved his phone into his pocket and sniffed. Eyeballed the produce piled high in pyramids.  
Who in their right mind came up with the idea that vegetables and fruit should be presented in pyramids?  
Far too easy to wreak havoc with a presentation like that.

Presentation.  
"Ah, shit."  
Charlie had sounded kind of miffed about the fact that Bill had forgotten the presentation was today.  
And things had been smooth sailing since that first bike ride and all that came after.  
Especially that almost goodbye kiss after Bill had spent the night on Charlie’s couch a few days ago stuck out in Bill’s memory.

If anyone ever asked him he could describe the scene down to the way the light had slanted through the dirty window on the landing, painting Charlie’s pale skin a gold-cream hue that made Bill’s mouth water. The way Charlie’s uncombed hair had stuck out above his ears and the stubble on his chin rasping under his hand as he yawned into his palm.  
Pale yellow boxers with a floral pattern and a t-shirt from a band Bill had never heard of before. Naked feet, toes curled against the cold floor.  
"I’ll see you," Bill had said and Charlie had yawned again and nodded. Reached for Bill’s shoulder and Bill stepped closer, head tilted up towards Charlie.  
Charlie’s stubbly cheek had rubbed tantalising against Bill’s temple as Charlie pulled him into a warm, sleepy hug.  
Bill had crushed Charlie’s waist in his hold, lifting him up for a half-second, just to make Charlie breathe a sleepy gust of laughter into Bill’s hair.  
His mouth had dragged over Charlie’s jaw as they had pulled apart and then Bill had rushed down the stairs without looking back, heart hammering and hand sliding on the banister, wet with sweat.

Now he stood in the grocery store, his phone hot in his pocket and Charlie’s miffed voice reverbating in his skull.  
The false cheer. How quick he’d ended the call.  
"Fuck."  
No stew then, but a stir fry after the whole thing. He mentally adjusted his shopping list and then hurried through it, cursing silently at the long check out line.  
Bill booked it home, thighs burning with the speed he was cycling at.

On the way up the stairs Bill scrolled through his contacts, trying to think of someone close to his height who was in possession of a dress shirt he could borrow.  
T-shirt and jeans probably wasn’t what one wore to an art student presentation.  
Art students art presentation?  
There was a fancy french word that Pissboy had used the first time he’d mentioned it. Verni-something.  
Whatever it was called, judging from the pictures Bill had found online and that Charlie had shown him in the meantime: Jeans and t-shirt was not it.  
He shoved the groceries into the fridge, wracking his brain for midgets with shirts.  
Tozer had a few, same as Heather, but they were as far from his size as he was from owning a dress shirt.  
He’d look like a child playing dress-up with his dad’s clothes.  
"Shit."  
He could hardly ask Charlie if he could lend Bill a dress shirt. That would be stupid.

A quick shower – spent frantically thinking – later Bill dripped on the carpet in his bed room and stared angrily into his closet.  
There were a pair of black slacks and an old blazer in some shade of grey, but that could work together.  
Just no dress shirt anywhere in sight.  
"Fuck."  
Last resorts. He sent a text to Hammond, asking after shirts and then squinted fiercely at his contacts.  
Cursed some more and jabbed his thumb at the next best last resort.  
He called Jopson, pleading internally to all the gamer gods that the guy would pick up his phone.  
"Jopson here."  
"Oh thank fuck."  
A mildly amused noise. "Who is there, please?"  
"Bill Pilkington, from Erebus, friends with Charles Best." Jopson ran in the same artsy circle as Charlie. They were bound to know at least of each other.  
"Hello, Bill Pilkington from Erebus. What can I do for you?"  
"Got a quick fashion question for you."  
There was a soft laugh and some rustling, then Jopson’s voice came clearer through the line.  
"I’m not even going to ask how or why you thought me the best option to ask something like that. Alright, what’s it?"  
"Can I wear a black t-shirt with a grey blazer and black slacks?"  
That amused noise again. Bill balled a tight fist.  
"What’s the occasion?"  
"Art thing."  
"Oh, Mr Best’s art vernissage? I think a dress shirt would be better than a t-shirt, it is end of the semester presentations and all that. Do you have one?"  
Bill swore under is breath and turned away from his offending closet.  
"Do you think I would have asked for advice on a t-shirt if I had a dress shirt? Fuck."  
Jopson laughed again, not unkindly, and there was the sound of water pouring.  
"Can you borrow a shirt from someone? I fear it’s a bit tight to want to buy one now. The whole thing starts in an hour or so."  
"I’m aware, thanks."  
"No problem. Please don’t call again, I’m sort of busy tonight."  
Bill rolled his eyes and kicked his bedframe. "Yeah, sorry. Have a good one."  
"You too! And good luck with Mr Best."  
Jopson ended the call before Bill could retort anything but an affronted huff.  
Fucking prick, prying into Bill's personal life like that.

He immediately called Hammond, who had – thank the gamer gods – answered Bill’s query in the positive.  
"You own a dress shirt, right?"  
"Hi to you too, Pilkington. Yeah, I do. Just wrote you that."  
"Can I borrow it? What size is it?"  
"Erm, a Medium? Sure you can borrow it. Date night?"  
"Fuck off. Can you drop it by? I just took a shower."  
"Be there in ten. Is there parking by your flat, remind me."  
"No, but I’ll wait for you downstairs."  
"Ta, mate, see you."  
Size Medium should fit, right?

Size Medium fit.  
Tested right there on the curb, to Hammond’s extended amusement.  
As if he’d never seen Bill shirtless before.  
Unlike the old lady from across the street that pulled her curtains tightly, probably already dialing the police about strippers running wild in the street.  
"Have a great date," Hammond shouted out of his window as he sped off again and Bill flipped him the bird with great satisfaction.  
Dressed, spritzed conservatively with the cologne he used maybe once a year, Bill sat in the tube not fifteen minutes later, turning his phone over and over in his hands.  
Pissboy had sent him the address of the fancy art gallery or what not weeks ago and Bill had not spared it a thought in the meantime.  
Now it was all he thought about.  
He kept staring at the station names outside the window as the tube crept closer to the city centre.  
Next station he needed to get out, then take the south exit, five minutes down the street and between an overpriced restaurant and an overpriced boutique the art gallery would hopefully be.  
According to his maps app it was there.  
The tube slowed and Bill was the first at the doors, the first out the train and the first up the stairs.  
His boots were polished and for once dust-free under his slacks. The only pair of leather shoes he owned and he hoped no one would look too close at them.  
Fucking combat boots to a slapped together suit.  
There was a metaphor for his life somewhere in there and Bill had to stop his racing thoughts in their tracks.  
Not the time for an existential crisis.  
South exit.  
Down the street, phone in his hand, heart somewhere in his trousers, the rest of him in knots.  
Bill ran a hand through his hair again and again and again.  
He crossed the street when he spied the sign of the overpriced restaurant.  
Dainty tables on the side walk and expensively dressed rich people slurping cocktails or what not. Bill stared at everyone that so much as glanced at him.  
One of the women paled and pulled her purse into her lap.  
Bill scoffed and passed the restaurant, stopping in front of the lit window of the art gallery.  
There were a lot of people inside. Laughing, talking, mingling happily.  
"Fucking hell."  
Well, into the breach then.

There was faint elevator music playing from somewhere in the gallery and by the door a pimply kid chewing gum offered Bill a glass of something.  
He took it, just to occupy his hands, and stepped into the gallery proper.  
Art on the walls, people packed tightly and asinine conversations all around the room.  
A girl with shockingly green hair passed him and Bill caught her by the elbow. Her eyes were yellow and it took him a breath to recognize contact lenses.  
"Hey, sorry, have you seen Best?"  
"Charles Best?"  
"Know anyone else called Best?"  
"No. Friend of yours?"  
Bill clenched his jaw around a grin. "No, I’m here to arrest him. So please point me discreetly into his direction."  
Her mouth curled into an evil little smile and she pointed towards the back of the room, where some kind of art was suspended from the ceiling.  
"Back there, by the airplane."  
"That’s supposed to be an airplane? After a wreck, or what?"  
The girl extracted her elbow from Bill’s grip and gave him the stink eye, paired with a haughty sniff.  
"Have fun arresting Charles."  
"Yeah, ta."  
Bill knocked back half his drink, pulled a face and then crossed the room, airplane in sight.

It wasn’t even fifty metres to the plane, but with dozens of people milling around, pointing at the weird and weirder art on the walls, the ceiling, little tables and display-boxes, it took Bill almost ten minutes to cross the room.  
Ten minutes of increasing nerves, fist ever tighter around the stem of his glass.  
Halfway through he had the urge to kick over some art and fucking book it out of there.  
But _oh._  
Yeah.  
There he was.  
Pissboy Charles Best.

Bill stopped by a drywall that was painted in bright colours and smelled like wet plaster. Finished his drink.  
Gave himself a pep-talk that just consisted of him mumbling "Okay" to himself like some weird chorus.  
Looked at Charlie talking with what he assumed were friends. Fellow students.  
They were all dressed in sleek, dark colours, tight pants and their eyes gleamed in the overhead lights.  
Every single one of them looked gorgeous, but none as much as Charlie.  
Charlie with a cigarette behind his ear. For once he was wearing neither sunglasses nor a hat.  
His mouth was half open, listening to a petite girl with very red lips say something.  
Everyone laughed and Bill felt stupid for having come at all.  
Felt stupid for standing behind a fucking drywall and staring around the corner of it like some creep.  
Charlie looked fantastic in tight dark grey slacks and a black shirt, a casual dark jacket tossed on over it.

And Bill stood there in his pants that were a bit too short at the ankle, leather boots sticking out, a borrowed white shirt and a grey blazer that was a bit tight across the back and arms.  
Shit, he wanted a smoke and to be anywhere but here.  
Fucking work would be better than standing here and feel like shit.  
A tall man standing in Charlie’s circle looked at Bill and frowned, chin tucked close to his chest. He looked familiar.  
Then he leaned forward and tapped Charlie on the shoulder.  
"Shit," Bill hissed and stepped behind the drywall. The other side of it was covered in plaster tits. No wonder that it smelled like wet plaster. Probably only finished earlier today.  
The tits were painted all colours of the rainbow and not two were the same size or shape. It wasn’t the weirdest shit displayed in the room.  
Bill sent quick prayer to whoever was willing to listen to make it so that Charlie had not seen him. That the guy had tapped Charlie for something completely Bill-unrelated.  
A smoke maybe.  
Asking him for a date maybe.  
Telling him he had toilet paper stuck to his shoe.  
That a meteor was colliding with the world tomorrow at noon.  
Anything, but please not Bill being a creep.

"No luck arresting him yet?"  
"Oh, sod off, will you."  
The green haired bitch sniffed again and gave him a side eye. Bill kept staring at a bright blue tit. The nipple pointed upwards and was a different shade of blue.  
"You’re not really here to arrest anyone, are you?"  
"Might be here to arrest you."  
"Cute. Are you a stalker?"  
Bill rolled his eyes and worked against the fierce impulse to smash her green head into the green tit next to the blue tit.  
"Sod off, honestly. I’m not in the mood to make new friends."  
She laughed and stepped around the drywall, heels clicking on the dark floor.  
Bill had a fierce feeling of impending doom and tried to grab the fluttering edge of her cape-thing. He missed.  
She cleared her throat very loudly on the other side of the drywall.  
"Hey, Best, you have a stalker!"  
"Fuck," Bill pocketed his phone and frantically searched for a restroom sign. Found none and it was highly unlikely that the floor would choose that exact moment to split beneath his feet.  
His palms felt dripping wet.  
Someone softly cleared their throat behind him and said: "Oh."  
Bill ground his teeth together and very slowly turned around.

"Hello, Charles," he mumbled at Charlie's dress shoes.  
The empty glass in his hand was slippery and Bill shoved it at another pimply teenager with a tray.  
He looked up at Charlie and swallowed drily.  
Charlie’s pretty mouth was open and his eyes were just as round. His hands were doing funny little movements by his hips.  
Bill unclenched his jaw and made a step forward.  
Charlie made a step forward.  
All his friends were standing behind him.  
Bill did his best to ignore them, instead focusing on the smattering of freckles above Charlie’s eyebrow.  
"Which one’s yours?"  
"It’s on the back wall."  
Bill pulled a face and pointed vaguely at the weird plane and Charlie laughed, kicking at Bill’s boot.  
"Nice shoes."  
"Fuck off and explain your damn art shit to me. And can we lose the peanut gallery?"  
Charlie turned over his shoulder and grinned at his friends. It looked gorgeous on him, the easy joy.  
"Guys, meet Bill Pilkington."  
Bill groaned.  
"Oh, that’s the guy? I somehow imagined him taller. You know, security and all that," said the girl with the red lips.  
The guy that had noticed Bill first looked at him and smiled.  
Bill did his best to smile back. It probably looked murderous.  
There was a great round of introductions and Bill resigned himself to never remember a single name.

"Magnus, nice to meet you," said the tall guy, last in the line of introductions.  
"Magnus? Magnus Manson? Friends with Tommy Armitage? Tom Hartnell?"  
A shy nod.  
"Huh. Small world. Tell them hi."  
Another nod and then the group slowly dispersed in that unnatural way of people definitely planning on sticking around and spying.  
Charlie grinned and patted Magnus‘ shoulder when they passed him on their way to the back wall.  
Bill fingered his phone in his pocket, palms still sweaty.  
"I didn’t think you’d come. You sounded weird on the phone."  
"Sorry, about that. I forgot it was tonight. Got your groceries, though."  
A little laugh and they stopped before a large painting.  
Blues and whites scraped over the canvas, ocean bleeding into ice, ice bleeding into sky.  
It was breathtaking.  
"Wow."  
There was a bird hinted at in the sky, a dark smear against clouds. Or more ice, towering over the ocean.  
The only living thing in the whole painting, flying away from it all.  
The only thing moving in the whole expanse was leaving it.

"I’m glad you came," Charlie said quietly and touched two fingers to the back of Bill’s clenched fist.  
"This is really good," Bill murmured, opening his hand and turning it, so that Charlie’s fingers touched his disgusting, sweaty palm.  
Gingerly, as if Bill’s hand were a bird, easily spooked, Charlie slid his fingers over his palm. Two, then three, all four, the thumb tapping on Bill’s knuckles.  
Carefully they slotted into the empty space between Bill’s fingers, that curled to skim the back of Charlie’s hand.  
"What was the topic?," asked Bill, pointing at the vast expanse of blue and white on the canvas.  
"Dreams of the World."  
"Huh."  
Charlie’s thumb tapped Bill’s hand softly and Bill looked up at him. Charlie had his tongue perched in the open corner of his mouth and his cheeks were flushed.  
He was beautiful.  
"I’m glad you like it."  
"Hell, I’d hang this over my bed, so I can look at it before I fall asleep."  
"You’d hang it on the ceiling?"  
"Yeah, I don’t really stare at my walls that often, but the ceiling and me when I can’t sleep? Well acquainted."  
Charlie snorted and squeezed Bill’s hand before letting go and swiping two glasses off of a passing tray.  
Something bubbly and colourful.  
Bill sipped it and Charlie chugged it in two swallows, shaking his head like a dog afterwards.  
"So, how long do these things normally run?"  
"Oh, three, four hours."  
"Fuck off, I can’t spend four hours looking at weird art and listening to people talk about the effervescent qualities of plaster tits."  
Charlie laughed and hooked an arm around Bill’s shoulders. It felt good. Natural and easy.  
"Come on, I’ll show you Magnus‘ installation, it’s super cool. And then we can stroll the room and I’ll tell you all about the pretentious shit people are gonna interpret into last minute saves."  
Bill snorted and slurped his drink, quite content with Charlie’s arm over his too tight blazer and the familiar smell of Charlie’s aftershave around him.  
He didn’t even mind the weird, saucy looks Charlie’s fellow art students tossed at them, apparently unused to new people at their little shows.  
"Next time, we should invite the whole gang."  
"Your little lobster club?"  
"Don’t call us that, it was one Halloween."  
"Quite memorable. Homemade little lobster suits."  
Bill chuckled and Charlie jostled him gently, hips bumping together.  
Fuck, Bill wanted so much more than their hip bones to bump together.

Charlie sat crosslegged on Bill’s unmade bed, plate with stir fry balanced on his knee.  
His hands sliced the air, shaping the story he was telling into something tangible, something that made a warm, heavy weight sink in Bill’s stomach.  
Like an anchor.  
He was sitting in his desk chair still in the borrowed shirt, sleeves rolled up, socked feet up on the corner of his bed.  
"And can you believe she fell for that?"  
Bill snorted, shoveling food into his mouth to squeeze out of a real comment.  
He’d stopped fully listening to Charlie a few minutes ago, rather pre-occupied with staring at his hands and all that.  
It was really hard to fight the army of butterflies throwing themselves against his stomach lining and swallow his bite of food without choking.  
"Teachers, am I right?"  
"Oh, hell yeah," Bill mumbled around his fork.  
Charlie laughed and cleared his plate in a few hurried bites, licking tomato sauce from his chin.  
"I’m gonna get some more, do you want seconds too?"  
Bill, still chewing, shook his head and mimed opening a beer.  
"Alright, coming up, Freddie."  
Charlie ignored the bird Bill flipped him and Bill was left staring at Charlie’s tight pants.  
The way they perfectly hugged Charlie’s ass.  
He groaned, burying his face in his hands, until Charlie knocked a cold bottle of beer against his knee.

"You alright?"  
"Yeah. Thanks for the beer, mate."  
Charlie leant down and pressed a kiss to Bill’s temple. It was a bit sticky with tomato sauce.  
"Thanks for coming by tonight."  
It wasn’t overly weird to start coughing when a handsome man kissed your temple, right? And to flush bright red.  
Charlie laughed and sat back down on Bill’s bed, digging into his second plate of food wiht as much gusto as he had shown the first one.  
"I might make you cook for me always, Bill, it’s always super tasty when you cook."  
"Sure, just move in or what? I work nights most often, though, so my schedule’s all kinds of fucked."  
"As if I wouldn’t know that already."  
Charlie cleared his second plate a bit slower after the first bite, which only meant that Bill was forced to sip his beer through Charlie constantly licking his lips and his fingers and his fork.  
It looked as if he were trying to fellate the poor cutlery.  
"Should I give you and the fork some privacy, maybe, Pissboy? That looks indecent."  
Charlie stuck his tongue out and laughed, making Bill curl his toes against the mattress.  
He put his empty plate and half empty beer on the floor and joined Charlie on the bed, sitting cross legged, hands loosely held in his lap. They were sweaty, jittering with his pulse.  
Charlie smiled at him, finished his food in silence and then stacked his plate on top of Bill’s.

"Hey there," he said and scooted closer. There was tomato sauce in the corner of his half open mouth.  
Bill thumbed it away. Charlie’s tongue chose that exact moment to dart against his lip.  
It was warm and wet against the pad of Bill’s thumb.  
His breath hitched.  
His thumb stayed where it was.  
Charlie licked at it properly. His pupils were blown wide in the dim light of Bill’s bedroom.  
Bill’s hand curled around Charlie’s sharp jaw, tilted his face a bit to the side.  
Charlie tapped his tongue against Bill’s thumb, mouth twisting slowly into a smile.  
"Please kiss me," he said, breath warm on Bill’s skin.  
"Alright."  
Bill shifted his thumb away from Charlie’s mouth and leaned in. Bumped his nose against Charlie’s and they both grinned helplessly.  
Charlie put a hand on Bill’s knee and aligned their noses properly.  
They shared air for a moment.  
Then Bill kissed Charlie.

Or maybe Charlie kissed Bill.  
The important thing was, that Bill got his tongue in Charlie’s mouth, tasting the tomato sauce from his lips.  
Charlie’s hand tightened on Bill’s knee and his other hand clamped down on Bill’s shoulder.  
Bill scooted closer, getting his free hand on Charlie’s waist. Warm and firm.  
There was a soft sound that Bill licked out of Charlie’s mouth.  
A second one, louder and more urgent, and then Charlie broke away, licking his lips, panting.  
His cheeks were flushed and he couldn’t seem to close his mouth. It was too tempting for Bill not to put his thumb flat on Charlie’s tongue.  
Charlie closed his lips around it and honest to god sucked on it.  
"Fuck!"  
Bill jerked his hand back, making Charlie laugh.  
"Sorry, can't help myself."  
"What are you? A fucking koi?" He couldn’t help the laugh bursting out of his chest, not when Charlie fell back into the pillows, mimicking the stupid mouth-movements of a koi. In between cackling like a witch.  
He wiped his wet thumb on Charlie’s pants and then flopped down next to him.  
Two more stupid koi faces and then Charlie settled, pressing a little kiss to Bill’s cheek.

"That was really nice."  
"Yeah," Bill said and gently kissed Charlie again.  
Ran a hand up and down his flank, up to his shoulder. Took Charlie by the nape of the neck and licked into his mouth.  
Charlie readily opened for him, hands grabbing at the belt loops of Bill’s slacks, pulling him closer.  
It made their hips bump with way less bone-involvement than before.  
Which: nice, but they were also drunk.  
Or at least closer to drunk than tipsy.  
Bill came up for breath and found himself confronted with Charlie’s blown pupils once more.  
It almost made his conviction waver.  
Almost.

"Erm."  
"Yeah," Charlie said, clearing his throat and let go of Bill’s pants. "Want me to go? I don’t want to do anything either of us regrets."  
Bill sat half up and licked his lips, glad that Charlie was on the same page. "You don’t have to leave, but I think we shouldn’t directly bump uglies. We both had too much to drink to really make a decision here."  
"Bet there’s nothing ugly to bump with you," Charlie quipped and smooshed the pillows around his head into a ball, half-hiding his face in it.  
His feet kicked at the messy blanket.  
"You’ll be surprised. I’ll go grab a shower. You can borrow some boxers or something to sleep in."  
He pointed at his closet and gathered the dirty dishes on his way towards the bathroom.Chugged the rest of his beer in the kitchen and then stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for a solid ten minutes.  
It felt as if the world had stopped turning and at the same time rushed on around him, without him.  
And he couldn’t stop the little grin that made his cheeks ache.  
A quick shower later that changed nothing and Bill came back into his bedroom to a shirtless, boxer-clad, snoozing Charlie. Covers pulled up to his chin, naked arms folded over them.  
With a snort Bill turned the low lights off and crawled under the covers.  
"Night, Pissboy," he whispered against Charlie’s temple and kissed the thin skin there.

Charles Best liked having a boyfriend.  
Dinner-dates, bike-dates, take-out-dates, work-place-get-me-free-drinks-and-admission-dates.  
It was nice to stand behind Bill Pilkington and feel him lean his solid weight against Charlie.  
It was nice to snog him and be snogged by him until Charlie’s mind was wiped blank and he was physically unable of closing his mouth.  
But what Charlie liked most of all was how easy things were with Bill.  
How easy it was to say "I love you" to him and hear it returned. And how easy it was to rile Bill up and know that it wouldn’t change a thing about how much Bill loved him.  
How much Charlie loved him.

Charlie straddled the weird weight-lifting bench and watched Bill shred it on some other weight-lifting-thing across the room.  
He looked fucking hot in his sweaty tank top and his little running shorts, towel thrown over his shoulders.  
Tempting, to walk over to him and bend low, kiss the sweat off of Bill’s upper lip and then walk into the locker room and wait for Bill to follow.  
Bill always followed, cursing and sweaty and ready to shred something other than the gym-equipment.  
"Are you using that, or are you just being horny, Best?"  
Charlie looked up at Bryant in his faded band shirt and ratty sweat pants and closed his mouth to sigh.  
"Being horny. How much longer is his set?"  
"No idea. Like fifteen minutes?"

He vacated the bench with another sigh and took a post up by the rowing machines.  
Which meant being eyed weirdly by Wilkes, but it gave Charlie a different angle on Bill’s arms and that was even nicer to look at.  
"Are you here to actually do something, or are you just here to stare at your boyfriend?", Wilkes grunted at him from his ministrations on the rowing machine. It looked like he used it wrong, but Charlie was no expert.  
"Actually here to stare at my boyfriend, thanks for asking. You?"  
An incredulous huff. "Do something, obviously."  
"Then don’t let me keep you," Charlie said with a smile and turned back to Bill. It took another moment for Wilkes to pick his weird rowing back up.  
Charlie adjusted his waistband a bit lower on his hips and took a sip from his bottle of water, watching a drop of sweat roll down Bill’s lifted arm and slide into the dark nest of hair under his arm.  
His mouth watered.

Another rep of whatever Bill was doing and then he got up from the machine and caught Charlie’s eye with a lifted brow. He mopped sweat from his brow, arm flexing.  
Charlie licked his lips and crossed the room, a spring in his step.  
Said a quiet "Hello" when he slipped into Bill’s personal space.  
Bill casually touched Charlie’s hip, just over the waistband of his shorts and took the bottle of water from his hands. Drank deeply, sweat dripping down his chin.  
The grey towel around his shoulders was dark with sweat already and Charlie used his own fresh towel to wipe at Bill’s throat.  
"Are you done?"  
Bill threw an unimpressed glare at Charlie and kicked softly at his shin.  
"No. Need to do my finish properly, or I’ll be sore all day tomorrow. Stretching shan’t be skipped."  
"Alright. By the mirrors?"  
"I’m not a gym-bro, I don’t need to see myself stretching, Pissboy. And don’t even think about taking pictures of me."  
"Not even for personal use?"  
Bill barked a laugh and swatted Charlie with his soaked towel. "As if you’d need that."  
"I’m not spending every night with you, since you work and all that, so yes, I do actually have need of that."  
"We’re still not filming ourselves doing it."  
Now Charlie laughed and tailed Bill to the stretching mats.  
There was an arrow of sweat on the seat of his shorts and Charlie licked his lips.

"Are you gonna shower at home?", he asked, sitting down on the corner of a mat, trying for nonchalance.  
Bill snorted and dropped his towel to the mat, slowly moving through his stretches.  
"I can shower at home, yeah."  
Charlie hummed, tongue resting on his bottom lip. Bill was glistening all over, sweat sliding over his toned limbs, hair wet with it.  
He bend over, touching his fingers to his toes and Charlie was hit with the full force of his musk.  
He smelled amazing.  
"Nice."  
Oh, that had come out hoarse.  
Bill licked his lips at the peak of a stretch and Charlie knew that his mouth was open and could do nothing to change it.  
"Go grab my bag, will you, Charlie?"  
"Yeah, sure. Meet you by the bike?"  
Bill hummed an affirmative and Charlie all but fled the scene. A bit longer and things would have gotten embarrassing.  
His shorts never did anything to hide a boner.

The ride to Bill’s flat was blessedly short and quick, Charlie perched on the handle bars with something akin to practice now.  
Bill’s sweaty skin rubbed against him, the salty scent sticking to his hair.  
It was nice.  
Hurrying up the stairs was also nice.  
Kissing Bill against the closed door of the flat was very nice.  
Charlie dragged his mouth from the corner of Bill’s lips to the patch of skin behind Bill’s ear and lapped the sweat from it.  
He had his hands under Bill’s shirt, palms slick with his sweat.  
Bill grunted into the kiss, hips jerking against Charlie’s thigh. That had somehow ended up between Bill’s legs, pinning him to the door.  
"Fuck, Charlie."  
"Oh, yes please, Bill."  
Bill laughed, swatted at Charlie and bit at his lower lip.  
"Let’s get to bed, I can’t lift you up after a work out, not without dropping you in the middle."  
"I thought you worked out to pick me up and all that."  
"My arms are a bit tired, mate. But if you want to risk it, sure. It’s your skull that’ll crack on the floor. Don’t have any condoms or lube in the hallway, though."  
"You really need to prepare better for these situations, Bill," Charlie sighed, sliding his hands out of Bill’s clothes and stepping back. "Bedroom, alright. Didn’t take you for such a vanilla guy honestly. Always thought you’d be one for kitchen sex or something like that."  
"What is it with you and kitchens?"  
"Had some good times in my kitchen."  
Bill snorted and dropped his sweater on the laundry pile in his bedroom, tank top and shorts following.  
Charlie watched him undress from the door.

"You know, this works better when we’re both naked."  
Charlie sucked at his teeth and kicked his shoes off. Stretched out on the bed and tossed the lube and condoms from the nightstand at Bill’s general direction.  
Both landed somewhere by the corner of the bed.  
"Man, you can’t throw for shit."  
"Well, thank God you don’t love me because of my throwing skills."  
"Yeah, thank God."  
Bill slapped Charlie’s ass with a laugh and then hooked his fingers under the waistband of his running shorts and pulled them down.  
Whistled softly and Charlie grinned into the pillow under his cheek.  
"Going commando in the gym, honestly?"  
"Yeah, thought there might be a situation in the locker room or something."  
"Fuck, Charles, you’re gonna be the death of me."  
Charlie looked at Bill over his shoulder and rolled over, shoving his t-shirt up into his armpits.  
"Hope not, mate. Come on, come here."  
Bill picked up the lube and joined Charlie on the bed.  
"Condoms?"  
"No idea where you tossed them, there’s more in the box. Want me to do the honours?"  
"Thought I could suck you off a bit while you opened me up?"  
Charlie grinned at the way Bill’s face completely shuttered into that determined expression he always got before he jumped into a fight.  
Or some sex-stuff he was really keen about.  
"That could work, yeah. Toss the shirt."

The shirt joined the laundry pile and Bill stretched out on his side, lathering his fingers with lube.  
Charlie crawled close, smoothing his hands over Bill’s hip and took his ass into a hand. Kissed his hipbone and nuzzled against Bill’s stiffening cock.  
Bill groaned, forehead warm and wet against Charlie’s thigh.  
"Are you gonna start, or should I?", he asked after a minute of waiting.  
"No, no, sorry, yeah."  
Bill cleared his throat and then carefully smeared lube over Charlie’s hole. Pressed a finger inside and Charlie opened his mouth.  
He was still a bit loose from fingering himself in the shower this morning and Bill’s finger was nothing but a nice pressure inside. Not yet stretching him, just warm and slick and comfortable.  
Charlie stretched his toes and lapped at the head of Bill’s cock. Musk and salt thick on his tongue.  
Fuck. No condom.  
Damn it all but he wasn’t gonna make Bill stop now.

Bill slipped his finger deeper and Charlie moaned, taking Bill into his mouth properly.  
"Slowly, Charlie," Bill panted, smoothing his dry hand over Charlie’s leg. "I don’t want to come in your mouth tonight."  
Charlie grunted around the heavy cock thickening on his tongue and swallowed, making Bill curse faintly.  
And there was the stretch.  
Two fingers scissored, probably, and rubbing insistently at him.  
It made him drool around Bill’s swelling cock.  
Bill mumbled something Charlie had no chance of understanding over the rush of blood in his ears.  
Between the twin sensations of fingers up his ass and a cock down his throat Charlie would be hard-pressed to do anything more than breathe, really.  
"You okay down there, Charles?"

He made a vague noise and Bill pulled his fingers half out, making Charlie whimper and accidentally knee him in the ear.  
"Ouch, Pissboy, thanks for that."  
Charlie pulled off of Bill’s cock, teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive skin and then licked his lips.  
"I’m good, sorry. Wanna go on?"  
"Yeah, turn around, let me kiss you," Bill said with a swat to Charlie’s ass. Earned him another knee to the ear, but Charlie rolled away from Bill.  
Sat up and fished a condom from the box by the lamp, before flopping down next to Bill again.  
"Forgot this."  
"Fuck, sorry. I’ll put it on right now." Bill took the little foil packet from Charlie and pressed a short kiss to the corner of his open mouth.  
Charlie licked at his mouth, but Bill moved away again to open the condom.

"We should really get tested, scatter-brained as we are we’ll forget them honestly some time. And it’s not like we’re sleeping with other people."  
"Why would I sleep with anyone else when I have a boyfriend, Charlie?"  
Bill looked up from rolling the condom down his flushed cock, unimpressed.  
The little wrinkle between his brows was adorable. Charlie grinned and poked it, stretching out on the mattress.  
"Yeah, I know, Billy. Just saying."  
"Yeah, alright. Stop saying stuff and shove a pillow under that arse. Or turn around."  
"What’s it with you and doggy, honestly?"  
"Your face is distracting."  
Charlie laughed and kicked at Bill, shoving a pillow under his hips and settling on it.  
"Get used to it, you’re gonna keep seeing it."  
Bill groaned through an eye-roll, mouth a thin line to keep from grinning.

"When you look so damn blissed out half way through, I always come too early. Makes it easier when I only hear you."  
"I like looking at your angry face when you fuck me, so no chance, Bill. We can blindfold you."  
"No, thanks."  
Bill settled between Charlie’s spread thighs, smiling down at him. There was sweat dripping from his hairline and a blush on his cheeks.  
He looked fucking divine.  
Charlie licked his lips and smiled back, Bill’s taste still thick on his tongue.  
"Kiss me?"  
"Sure," Bill drawled and leaned down, kissing Charlie. He sucked on Charlie’s swollen lips and dipped his tongue between them.  
A mean move. It made his toes curl against the sheets.  
Charlie moaned and smoothed his hands over the sweaty hair at the back of Bill’s head.  
His cock gave a little twitch at Bill’s teeth sinking into his lip again.  
Bill’s hands were hot and heavy at his hips and Charlie wiggled into them, hooked an ankle over Bill’s leg and dragged him closer.  
They parted for some unobstructed breathing and Bill reached between them, hand brushing over Charlie’s hip.

"Ready?"  
Charlie nodded and kept one hand on the back of Bill’s neck, the other trailing down his belly to grab his own cock in his fist.  
It would help no one if he came the second Bill pushed into him.  
Bill licked his lips, sweat dripping down his nose and pressed the blunt head of his cock against Charlie’s slick hole.  
His mouth fell open, a low moan breathed against Bill’s cheek.  
With a slow roll of his hips Bill pushed further inside. Charlie clamped the fist around the base of his cock as tight as he could and rocked into Bill’s slow, insistent press.  
"I’m not a china doll, you can go faster."  
"Pretty as one, though," Bill grunted through clenched teeth, one hand fisted in the pillow next to Charlie’s head. The other hand was still on Charlie’s hip, digging bruises into his skin.  
Charlie touched his tongue to the corner of his mouth and scoffed, rubbed the heel of his hand against the base of his cock.  
Bill settled against him, pelvic bone pressed flush against Charlie’s ass.  
"What, don’t want to be called doll?"  
"I prefer Pissboy, thanks, Freddie."  
Charlie moaned through the little thrust Bill gave as answer and rolled his head against the pillow. Bill looked devastatingly handsome, perched above Charlie like that.  
Dripping sweat down his chin, droplets on his chest and the veins on his arms pronounced. Eyes blazing.

A drop of sweat fell from Bill’s chin on a forward thrust and Charlie shuddered, when it dripped on his chest, rolling down to his side.  
The next one landed in his open mouth and he clenched around Bill’s cock. The salt was so sharp it almost burned his tongue.  
He immediately wanted more.  
Bill groaned and his arm buckled, dropping his weight on Charlie’s chest. And bringing his shoulder closer to Charlie’s open mouth.  
He shook with every breath, almost sobbing.  
"You’re gonna kill me. Do that again."  
Charlie lapped the salt from Bill’s shoulder and shuddered, muscles tightening again.  
Bill yelped, then laughed breathlessly into the crook of Charlie’s neck.  
"Fuck, I love you."  
"Mhm, love you too," Charlie mumbled, pressing open mouthed kisses to the meat of Bill’s shoulder.  
Bill rubbed his sweaty temple over the top of Charlie’s head, mussing his hair, and then picked up his pace again.   
He couldn’t look away from Charlie’s face and Charlie didn’t want him to.  
His thrusts were sharp and short and drove Charlie up against the headboard. He let go of Bill’s shoulder to push against the headboard and keep his head from banging into it.  
"Wanna fuck me through the wall, huh, stallion?"  
Bill laughed and put one hand against the headboard next to Charlie’s, never letting up his pace.  
Quite to the contrary, actually: Charlie was sure that Bill picked it up.

He groaned and dragged his hands over Bill’s back, muscles moving ceaselessly under his skin. He was soaking wet with sweat and Charlie grinned open mouthed.  
Grabbed Bill’s tight ass and pulled him impossibly closer, lifting his hips into Bill’s next thrust.  
It made them both shout.  
There were tears in Bill’s eyes that Charlie would never mention.  
Bill always got shy about getting emotional during sex.  
"Fuck, the neighbours are gonna kill me," Bill whispered into Charlie’s ear and snapped his hips again.  
Charlie shouted once more, laughing against Bill’s shoulder after. His nails dug into Bill’s backside.  
"I’ll defend you, Billy, don’t worry."  
"Oh, I’m so relieved, thanks. You’re a real life saver. Knight in shining armour."  
Bill smiled at Charlie and leaned down, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. Charlie groaned, eyes rolling back into his head.  
A finger swiped over the corner of his mouth and then dipped into it.  
He blindly sucked on it, moaning.  
It tasted like salt and lube and Bill. And maybe a bit like his own pre-cum, but he didn’t mind that at all.

"Fuck, Charles."  
Bill’s voice was hoarse against Charlie’s cheek and he managed to throw a glance at him, shuddering through a particularly vicious thrust.  
One of the tears clinging to his eyelashes rolled down his cheek, mingling with the sweat.  
"I’m gonna come. Want me inside?"  
Charlie lapped at Bill’s thumb and dragged his foot over Bill’s sweaty calf. Nodded.  
"Wanna finish together, Pissboy?"  
Bill pulled his thumb out of Charlie’s mouth and kissed him, before it fell open again. Charlie licked into his mouth and then dropped back into the pillows.  
"Fuck, yeah. Let me get a hand on myself."  
Bill grunted, let go of the headboard and sat back on his haunches, pulling Charlie along with two hands on his hips.  
It dragged him into Bill’s lap, shoulders pressing into the mattress and knees left and right of Bill’s heaving ribs.  
"Oh," he said quietly and Bill grinned down at him, sweat dripping down his nose and chin. His pulse beat visibly in his neck.  
"Go ahead, Charlie. Get a grip."

Charlie rolled his eyes and gingerly wrapped a hand around his straining, purpling cock. It almost hurt to touch.  
There were unwavering eyes on him; Bill chewing his lip and staring at Charlie.  
"Like what you see, Pilkington?"  
Charlie rolled his head back against the mattress, throat stretched and eyes half-lidded. Mouth open.  
He teasingly pulled on his dick, swiping his thumb through the precum gathered on his belly. Moaned exaggerated.  
"Not really, honestly," lied Bill through his teeth.  
"Fuck off."  
Bill laughed and flicked one of Charlie’s nipples.  
"Love it when you drop your mouth open like that. Ready to be filled. Makes me wish I could fuck your ass and throat at the same time."  
Charlie shivered, clenching around Bill seated deep inside him.  
They groaned almost as one.

"You ever heard of sex toys?", Charlie said conversationally after catching his breath and Bill started thrusting into him again.  
"Have I ever heard of sex toys."  
Charlie moaned through a laugh. Bill sounded awfully strained there.  
"You sound awfully strained there, babe. You alright?"  
"Fuck, I’m gonna gag you next time. Get one of those dildo-gags, give you something to suck on, Charlie."  
Charlie’s hand flew over his dick, in time with Bill’s hard thrusts. He was drooling on the pillow, panting like a dog.  
"Get one moulded after my dick and shove it down your throat. Or your ass." Bill leaned over Charlie, folding him nearly in half. "Depending on my mood."  
Charlie keened, free hand scrabbling for hold on the back of Bill’s sweaty neck.  
"Fuck, fill me up, please."

Bill cursed violently, hips stuttering through two quick thrusts as he came.  
The thrusts grazed against Charlie’s prostate and he twisted his hand around the head of his cock, spurting into his palm.  
Bill dropped his forehead to Charlie’s, panting into his open mouth.  
His ass clenched around the pulsing cock shoved deep into him.  
"Stop doing that, please?"  
Charlie chuckled and clenched tighter around Bill’s softening cock, making him groan, vaguely pained.  
"Come on, Billy, my back is gonna kill me, if you keep me pretzeled like this."  
Charlie dug his heel into the meat between Bill’s shoulders to emphasize his point and Bill kissed his temple, lips pulled taut around a smile.  
"Let go of me and I’ll get out."  
Charlie protested weakly and unwrapped himself from Bill’s sweaty skin.  
"Eww, we’re sticking together."  
"Yeah, well, definitely need that shower now." Bill grinned, leaning back and carefully pulling out.  
He tied the condom off and tossed it in the general direction of the waste basket.  
Charlie stretched, back cracking, limbs comfortably liquid.  
"That was nice."

Bill flopped on the mattress next to him, belly down and nose pressed against Charlie’s ribs.  
"Yeah. Really tied the workout together."  
Charlie chuckled and smoothed his hand over Bill’s wet back.  
"Don’t let me fall asleep. I’ll be gross when I wake up and have the meanest headache ever. I really need to hydrate, fuck."  
"You’re already gross."  
"You wanted me to fuck you before I showered."  
"Yeah, you did that quite well, and now I think you’re gross. Sweaty and stinky."  
Charlie rolled on his side and laughed, Bill’s chin digging into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his very sweaty head.  
"Don’t look at me like that, grumpy cat. I’m gross too. Let’s get some water and take a shower."

Bill huffed and mouthed at Charlie’s chest.  
"Honestly don’t know why I stick around, the way you treat me. Honest to god being abused here."  
Charlie cooed, Bill already laughing. He shimmied down the sweaty sheets and rubbed his nose against Bill’s.  
"I love you, Bill. Love it when you’re gross with me after sex."  
"Yeah, love that too." Bill kissed Charlie quick and hard and then rolled out of the bed, crossing to the bathroom. "Join me in the shower, come on."  
"Tell me you love me first."  
Bill turned over his shoulder, cheeks red, mouth wide in a smile. His hair was sticking up every which way. He looked fucking cute.  
"I love you, Charles Best."

Charlie grinned and sat up. Wiped his hand on the filthy sheets and joined Bill by the door. Bent down and kissed Bill, one hand cupping his cheek.  
Bill draped his arm around Charlie’s waist, thumb stroking over his hip bone.  
"Shower and then chinese?"  
"Sounds good."  
Bill hummed and pressed another short kiss to Charlie’s mouth and then let go of him, stepping into the small bathroom.  
"Can you call already? So the food gets here when we’re done with showering?"  
"That never works out, but sure. Bet the delivery guy can’t wait to get another eyeful of either of us."  
Bill laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles and Charlie picked up his phone from the pile of laundry by the bedroom door.  
Smiled at the picture Bill had set as his lockscreen and background.  
Cheesy bastard that he was had picked out a selfie of the two of them.  
The shower started running and Charlie ordered the food.  
Same as usual.

He joined Bill in the shower and made a mental note to write a thank you note to Solomon Tozer for making people stand in line to use the loo at his house parties.  
It had surely changed Charlie's life.


End file.
